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She's doing work she actually loves. And every piece of it runs straight through my family's farm.

That evening, the outdoor rink hosts the children's Christmas ice disco, which is exactly the kind of crazy mess it sounds like.

Colored lights sweep the ice, artificial snow drifts down beneath glowing candy canes the size of streetlamps, and a DJ dressed as Santa spins festive dance remixes from a booth shaped like a sleigh.

Hundreds of kids are tearing around the outdoor rink wearing flashing bracelets while their parents dance at the boards like the babysitter canceled and this counts as a night out.

The Wildcards, naturally, turn the organized event into a day at the zoo.

I stand back and laugh as a kid shoves snow down the back of Aidan's jersey, and Aidan responds by declaring open season, packing snowballs with terrifying speed.

Across the ice, Dylan has been sentenced to the penalty box by a seven-year-old referee for excessive singing and serves his time performing dramatically through the glass like an opera about injustice.

Nate was doing his part by dishing out spare gloves for every kid who arrived without them, but somehow, he's ended up slow-dancing with Eden's grandmother, who keeps dipping him.

Coach Dave judges the skating competition from beside a heater, thermos in hand.

"That kid wins," he announces, pointing at nobody in particular.

"Which kid, Coach?"

"The fast one. I don't understand the rules. I don't want to."

And Audrey stands at the boards in her red coat, laughing at all of it, watching everyone else enjoy the ice the way she's watched everyone else enjoy everything for two straight weeks.

Not tonight.

I collected the box I ordered from the skate shop a few days ago, and now's my chance to give Audrey the best gift ever.

"What's this?" Audrey says when I move in front of her.

"Open it."

She watches me carefully as she pulls the red ribbon and unfolds the box. Inside is a pair of white skates, warm-lined, with tiny gold Christmas-tree charms threaded through the laces.

"The charms were my idea, and I'm smug about them because they look awesome."

She stares at them with a tiny smile. "Miles. These are beautiful. There's just one small operational issue."

"Which is?"

"I don't know how to skate."

I chuckle to myself and crouch to start unlacing her boots myself.

"You solve sponsor disasters, repaired a forty-foot Christmas tree, and took on three Stratton men over farm finances at breakfast." I help her slip on the skates and pull them tight. "I refuse to believe frozen water is where your competence finally ends, Audrey."

Frozen water, it turns out, is precisely where her competence ends.

Audrey steps onto the ice and within seconds, her ankles buckle, her arms windmill, and she seizes my forearms in a grip that could crack my great-grandfather's tree.

"It's moving," she hisses. "The ice is moving!"

"It's ice. It's famously stationary."

A boy who cannot be older than six skates past us backward, eating a churro. "You gotta bend your knees, lady."

"I am bending my—" Audrey wobbles violently. "How is he going backwards?"